


Spit & Prayer

by whorerormovie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 'quickie', Jealous Dimitri, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rough Sex, also claude in thigh high heeled boots is a thing, but not really a quickie, no prep we take it up the ass like glenn, this is a gift for marlon, yeah they do it on the throne sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorerormovie/pseuds/whorerormovie
Summary: Jealousy is a dangerous game that Claude Von Riegan didn't know he was playing.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 200





	Spit & Prayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marlemarle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlemarle/gifts).



> This was written for Marlon, you can find him on twitter @rawmettwurst

“Tonight is my last night.” 

“So it is.” A cold response, fitting for a man born in the frozen wilds. The white of the snow claims him just as the burnt of the sun claims Claude. They’re polar opposites, no wonder Claude-

Never mind. 

Shoulders become tense at the recent memory, the mood dours. There’s an evident shift in the king’s physical demeanor that makes every muscle taut. He tries not to, truly he does, but the memory is just too much. It’s nothing, he knows it’s nothing that concerns him, but the fact that it wasn’t him is what does him in. Estranged hands roamed Claude’s leg just as he once had, so close, so personal, every press of Yuri’s fingers against Claude’s calf felt like having the fingers against his throat. A slow suffocating feeling. Airless gasps, a response to their shared smiles. Hidden, private, Dimitri had felt as if he intruded on a secret. Still he stayed, and watched further on as the leather hiked up on Claude’s leg. The higher the boot, the higher Yuri’s touch went, and the longer it lingered on the expanse of muscles. A wyvern rider’s thighs are a blessed thing, strong enough to mount a beast and supple enough to ride a king. 

To have someone else touch felt inadequate. 

His thighs are exquisite, he loves how they feel underneath his hands as he holds him, sometimes tenderly, sometimes with a lack of sense. He loves it when his thighs shake on the brim of pleasure, tight, hot and wet, Claude Von Riegan feels magnificent at all times. Every line of the body, every curve, is ecstasy to him. They search for one another when despondent, they complete each other in the dead of night. 

Yes they’ve been intimate, many times, but there’s nothing beyond that. Their pleasure is physical. No matter how much more Dimitri wants, Claude always hesitates, it’s political suicide, he says. So they settle with their mouths, no words, just wandering tongues. They could be perfect together, it feels that way when Claude is inside him, when he is inside Claude. If only Claude could see it. He almost saw it once, late at night in Dimitri’s arms, hair messy from their debauched activities. His green eyes were soft, lips softer still, and he had said yes to becoming an item. He said it was too soon in the morning, that he wasn’t ready.

Dimitri considered himself a patient man, for Claude, yes. That is until he saw Yuri fit a thigh high heel on Claude. Intimate in a way that they were not. Claude had never allowed Dimitri to dress him, only undress him. To see another man do what he could not, it made him feel something that he should not name. A long zipper, a slow haul up as it made the leather snug against Claude. Shiny black hide, such a beautiful contrast to the green of his eyes. Claude seemed untouchable to him. Is untouchable to him now. 

Yuri had rested his chin on Claude's knee and Claude had winked. What had transpired after, he did not know. Does not wish to know, he would not be able to stomach it. It’s not like Claude owes him anything, nor he Claude. They weren’t a couple, and looking at those boots that he’s wearing, he’s reminded even more of that fact.

“So it is.” Claude says, copying his words, but not being able to match the same emotion Dimitri spoke in. It is then that he realized that he wasn’t looking at Claude, never was, he only focused on the boots. How tight it hugged his skin, how much fuller his legs looked. He would have loved to feel those legs around his waist as he’s deep inside, the leather chafing against his own marred flesh. But that is not a gift that he will get to enjoy, and his lips flatten into a smooth line. 

Dimitri was about to get up from the throne, and was going to walk Claude back to his chambers so that he may rest for the long day ahead. It’s what a friend should do, how diplomatically a king should act. He did not get the opportunity to do that. Instead, the tip of Claude’s boot touched his torso, keeping him seated. A faint press, forcing Dimitri to lean back into the chair. Initially his position had been slouched, but now he sits up straight, rigid, paying full attention as the foot moves downwards. “Do you like my boots?” Diaphragm, navel, pelvis, his slow tantalizing descent hits these spots wantingly. 

“You haven’t been able to keep your eye off them.” A slow glide of his foot over the crotch, pressing gently in, coaxing him to say more. “They’re nice.” Dimitri responds. Short answers, that’s how you know a match burns near its end. “What’s so nice about them?” The follow up question, as he asks he removes the pressure, leaving Dimitri wanting. 

Dimitri has always felt everything so intensely. Loss, love, madness, loyalty, Claude, when Dimitri can no longer speak of those in eloquent lengths he reaches an end. A king touches another king, despite them sharing the same title, the same burdens, Dimitri still feels lesser. Sitting , worshipping Claude with his hands like the deity he is. His hands follow the same path as Yuri’s once had. He grasps Claude’s ankle and rests it on the top of his thigh, hand leading up from the achilles heel and into the inside dip of the knee. His hands are bigger than that man’s, it claims more ownership, adding more pressure, gripping more to feel what lies underneath the leather. “I like the way you feel in my hands.” Claude shutters. Feels him, sees him, and wants him to do more of it, wants to be the cause of it. 

The thumb of his other hand trails the zipper, the claw of his gauntlet creates the scratchy sound that mutes his loud breathing. Dimitri pulls Claude’s leg closer, a sleek noise as the underside of his gauntlet slides on the back of the thigh. He thinks of Yuri, thinks of where his hands had roamed, thought about how he was following in his motions. A king doesn’t follow, a king leads, so he does what Yuri hadn’t. He sticks out his tongue and presses it to the outer curve of the knee. Slicking the leather with his saliva, polishing, lips closed around it. His tongue roaming over the leather as he leaves behind a trail of wet kisses. 

His hands continued to roam upwards, past the boots, past his pants, and instead encircled on his waist. Pulled Claude in, pulled him close, pulled him tight until rearranged and seated on his lap. Claude begins to grind, holds on to his biceps for support. Back and forth motions, long and slow in sequence as he grins when he takes Dimitri’s lips as his own. A slip of the tongue, it’s hard to tell who went in first, perhaps they both did. Dimitri’s mouth agape as the cleft of Claude's ass rubs against the clothed head. His partner’s tongue ever so curious dips in and curves, as if scooping up the moans for himself, for later safekeeping. Every sound of pleasure Dimitri gives Claude takes it, and he does so with a smile. With his tongue Claude asserts his claim over the roof of his mouth, teeth, tongue and kisses his lips. Kisses him fully, desperately, and aligns their faces to become the perfect masterpiece.

Both still clothed, sweet sweet friction, Dimitri is fully hard and leaking now. Precum stains the front of Dimitri’s pants because of Claude, _of beautiful Claude._

They separate in their kiss, a trail of spit the only thing connecting their lips to one another. Claude is panting and groans once their cocks prod against one another. Dimitri’s hands moved down, went from waist to hips and lower still until he managed to grab a handful of ass. Squeezing, feeling the hard glutes he breathes heavy and whines once the cold air hits the swollen head of his cock. “ ‘m sorry Mitya.” Claude had freed his cock from its fabricated restraints. Just eased it out by pulling down the fabric. He takes Dimitri in hand ignoring his own need, strokes him from the base up, hard and fast. Spreads the slick of precum over the entirety of his girth. “I would take this slow but-” 

Claude spits. Claude Von Riegan fucking spits on his cock. The archer aimed the shot and allowed the wad of spit to drip from the tongue. A slow fall on the slit, warm and wet, and then Claude fists the head of his cock. Swivel of the wrist, mixings of spit and cum at the tip and sensations begin to overwhelm him. Dimitri moans as he leans forward, burying his face on the polycotton clothing over Claude’s pecs. His body gets warmer as Claude works him up, feels feverish with how flushed his cheeks are becoming. Goddess, it’s hard to be mad at him when he feels so wonderful, when he makes Dimitri feel so taken care of. While losing his mind among the pleasantries, the sharpened ends of the gauntlets begin to scratch the threads that maintain the back of Claude's pants united. Miniature rips begin to take form as claws dig deeper in, causing small tears unbeknownst to them.

“Someone might walk in.” Yes, that is cause for concern. They are in the throne room. Any guard, any maid, any one and every one could walk in. **Dimitri doesn’t care.** He doesn’t care because Claude didn’t care when he was with Yuri, he didn’t care then if anyone saw, if Dimitri saw.

Dimitri ripped Claude's pants down the center, underwear and all in a vertical line. They both halted in their actions. Claude looked oh so scandalized. “Claude I-” Claude stood and looked back, the split section on his rear showcasing his asscrack to him. “I liked these pants.” And of course Dimitri ruins them. His strength sabotages him once again, a true burden, and a source of insecurity for him. It is of no surprise to him that Claude would prefer someone like Yuri, someone who is not inept in intimate matters, _someone who is beautiful to look at._

A distant look takes over Dimitri’s eye, he’s lost in his mind now. 

It is now that Claude touches his cheek, thumb tracing the fine shape of his cheekbone. Left to right strokes as if it’ll flatten under his ministrations. His warmth like the guiding sun, it brings him back to the present instead of a past saturated with his own shortcomings. “How will you make this up to me, Dima?” He's gentle, like the mornings when they wake besides one another, in the slim moments before they’re forced to part in secrecy. “I can sow.” Dimitri responds, almost as uncertain as he feels. "Can you now?” Asks Claude, the hue of his eyes of a brighter contrast, like when the sun hits its peak, coating everything in its glow. The color of spring, youth and life, that is what Claude is to Dimitri.

**_Yes._ **

When Dimitri stands, Claude takes his hands and begins to unclasp the gauntlets, leaving behind traces of drying precum and spit on its surfaces. “I imagine it’ll be easier to sew without these on.” The gauntlets fall, pitter patter on the floor, clanking down the multitude of steps. His disregard, his unflagged erection, Claude was never actually upset. 

“Allow me to take a look.” Dimitri takes Claude and bends him over one of the arm rests, Claude’s erection, still clothed, pressed tightly between his stomach and the surface of the arm rest. Dimitri kneels behind him in full view of his tight ass. The cut starts on the apex of the crack and is about four inches in length, his undergarments are torn too. Dimitri’s hands go on either side, hooks his fingers beneath the cloth and stretches it open further, otherwise it would have been a tight squeeze. Based on the quick turn of Claude's head, that’s not a sound he anticipated. Before the protest began, Dimitri dug his thumbs on the meat of his cheeks to spread as far as they could manage. The hole inside is small, dry and tight (for the time being). 

His face goes in, the wet flatness of his tongue touches his sensitive hole first. Closes his mouth around it, flicks his tongue until his partner moans. Unfiltered, loud and breathy sounds are Claude's way of showing feedback. The louder he is the more he enjoys it. The tongue goes in, the tight ring of muscle welcomes him and Dimitri hums, feeling the vibration travel all through Claude as his body shakes. 

“A- _aah_ ” He kicks back one of his legs in pleasure and then brings the heel on the ground hard. “Dima. Dima. Dima _aah_.” Now that’s a whine if he ever heard one. He continues to fuck Claude with his tongue. Saliva dripping from the side of his mouth, finding himself unable to stop the more pliable Claude became around him. Bent over and at a loss of words, Claude could say little else but broken pleas, his name becoming a song of praise when Claude delivers it. He wants it, he’s letting Dimitri know he wants it by telling him, _I need you, please, and yes._

Dimitri leans his face back to spit over his hole before going back and licking the rim in circular motions. This causes Claude to arch his back, the curve of his arch is tantalizing. 

He can’t.

Claude’s not ready but he can’t wait anymore. 

**This will be his punishment.**

His cock is hard and leaking, missing Claude’s touch, his devious ministrations, his everything. “I’m sorry Claude.” He thinks of the wink Claude gave Yuri and realizes he’s not sorry at all. He stands up, sets himself right behind him, a hand on Claude's hip, the other used to line himself against Claude's puckering hole. Teasing it with the swollen head. “I would take this slow but.” A press, slow, agonizingly slow. _“Someone might walk in.”_ He’s embraced by heat, the all consuming simmering heat that is Claude. Claude in turn tilts his head back, his mouth is as wide as his eyes, a soundless scream as he takes Dimitri practically unprepped. It’s not their first time doing it like this, Claude has admitted that he likes it like this at times. The pain is numbing, it distracts him, makes him forget.

Dimitri wants him to forget about-

He pushes out and then back in, this time a bit deeper. Pulls out all the way again and goes back in even deeper this time. Repeats until he’s buried at the hilt. Goddess he’s going to cum. A few thrusts in and he’s already at the brink. This is Claude’s influence on him and cannot find it within himself to be ashamed of it, he’s in love with him.

He stops. A moment to collect himself, shaking with every breath as he’s deeply rooted in his... _his lover_. Claude asks for a moment, just a moment so that he may adjust himself to Dimitri. His exemplary size stretching him open, Claude takes pride in being able to take him, all of him. A whimper when Dimitri begins to soothe his back. Hand Over the back of Claude’s coat, easing over the tightness of his spine. Bet he’s hot under all those layers, can see the sweat on his face, can see the tear trickling on the edge of the eyes.

“Please I need you.” Broken but his words ever grasping at Dimitri. That’s all he needs to hear. All he needs to understand. Those four words is all it takes to ruin the sanctity of the throne. He sat there when he vowed to rule over his people. His father had made the same vow, his father before -and now he fucks Claude on it, bends him over the promise that’s lasted generations. And will do it again as long as he gets to hear those four words.

Dimitri starts now, slow and steady, a hand at the base of his spine, adding pressure so that the press of Claude’s cock over the arm rest is even tighter. No matter how deep Dimitri goes, Claude goes with him. He starts picking up the pace now, the slapping of their bodies close together causes whatever is visible of Claude’s ass to become red. Claude tightens around him for a number of seconds. “Yes. Yes. Yes” He chants, pain no longer in his register and instead only finds pleasure in the one named Dimitri. When he hits the prostate his leg kicks back again, the heel striking Dimitri’s ass lightly by the angle. 

“I'm not going to last long.” He admits panting heavily. Lower body trembling as he nears the precipice of release. Claude just feels so good, so tight, so wet, so hot. Dimitri grabs Claude’s arms and pulls up until he too is standing, his dick deeply integrated into him, deeply penetrating and filling him fully with his cock. He would not stop until Claude is flushed against him, back to chest and unable to touch himself. Claude’s legs begin to give under the pressure. His moaning becoming more exuberant as Dimitri holds him and continues to fuck him standing. “Claude I-“ Hips begin to stutter, he’s losing his rhythm, his focus. It’s incredible how a single man could reduce him to nothing.

Claude’s moans reach a higher pitch. What a lovely sound, his favorite sound in the world might he add. 

The back of Claude’s head reaches Dimitri’s shoulder, he turns his head to plant kisses at the crook of Dimitri’s neck. His tongue swirls over the pulse joint, the warm air that exits between broken gasps allows for a cool sensation to wash over Dimitri. 

And with that he cums, pumping his thick load into Claude who shudders in return as Dimitri fills him full. Continues to fuck him, be inside him, until he’s fully empty. Shattering from the inside into a million pieces as Claude takes every ounce of him. Dimitri is not a vocal person, but when he cums, and he cums good, it’s a silent cry and he shakes as he holds Claude.

So good, _it’s so good._

“Dima.” _So good_. He still slides in and out, all the more wetter now with his semen dripping down Claude’s legs. “Claude.” He answers. He’s gone soft but still persistent with his over sensitive cock. In and out, in and out.

_“Dima.”_ A flex of the arm, with limited use claude touches one of the fingers holding his upper arm. The touch featherlight as Dimitri concedes in releasing one of his arms from the tight grip. Claude has taken one of his hands and led it down a stray path. He was still hard in his pants, untouched by the man who sullied him.  
Finally he pulls out, the rest of him comes out of Claude in liquid ounces. In slow drops he leaks out of him, viscous as part of his seed lands on a boot. Dimitri licks his lips, content in this small victory. He had tarnished the gift of another and made it his own. 

The king of Faerghus had encouraged another to sit the throne, _another king at that_. Claude had, just as easily as he sat on Dimitri’s lap, sat on the throne with a heated face. He was desperate, needy, reaching out for Dimitri to give him his release. 

How could he not oblige?

Just as Dimitri was about to kneel to provide the gifts of his mouth, Claude had derailed him, just as he had done earlier. With his boot light on his chest. “Where’s your crown?” He asks, not quite serious, not quite jokingly, as he rests an elbow on an arm rest. Dimitri takes a hold of his ankle and begins to push his leg back until it slots rightfully against Claude’s chest. _So flexible_ , not even a wince from Claude. “A king had sat the throne, head empty of a crown.” Dimitri does not find himself so giving anymore. He grabs a hold of Claude’s other leg, pulling it taut against his armored torso. The skin of the leather mewling at the flexibility of the owner. “Use me as your crown, let me be on your _head_ , tight and fitting just for you.” Claude’s silver tongue had easily delved under his skin. His cock twitches in excitement at the thought, and at the sight of Claude dirtied by him. His emerald eyes twinkling, mouth pulling into a mischievous smile with every hair out of place. **So desirable.**

Dimitri pulls Claude closer to the edge of the throne and further bends his leg accordingly so his opening is readily available. A calf rests on Dimitri’s shoulder, the thigh that it’s connected to sandwiched between both their chests as Dimitri sets his weight on Claude. Claude’s own cock straining against the front of his pants, Dimitri can feel it poking him. 

His cock pressed against his rim, not quite fully hard but determined to get there. Claude’s already loose, nothing else left to do but **break him.**

_“I love you.”_ Said by Claude, for the first time. A fleeting whisper, so fragile it could shatter between Dimitri’s brutish fingers.  
Dimitri slips it in before weighing the full extent of Claude’s words. He leaves open mouthed kisses at the leather closests to his lips. Marks it with seeping wet spots and digs his teeth into the hide. A texture thicker than Claude’s skin, he applies more pressure and his bite leaves an imprint. His hips continuing to push into Claude, he feels him writhe around him, causing Dimitri to moan, the boot muffling his sound. 

Dimitri loves Claude, but with the image of Yuri so vivid in his mind, he’s afraid that this is just another one of his schemes.

He chooses not to believe Claude. He chooses to be jealous, to remain with his insecurities. 

At being filled again Claude hits his head on the bottom rail of the throne. Can’t imagine this being too comfortable for him, with his back splayed on the seat, a leg on Dimitri’s shoulder as the other wraps around his side. When Dimitri starts railing him particularly hard, one of Claude’s hands reaches for his weeping cock. That’s not something Dimitri plans to allow. 

He follows through with letting the leg on his shoulder fall to the side and instead hooks his arms underneath Claude’s to embrace him. To hold him close, to literally feel when Claude becomes undone. Every spasm, every shudder perceived intensely every time their bodies come so close together. To ensure that Dimitris fucks into him with reckless abandon, the squelch of Claude’s stretched and beaten hole urges him on to be rougher, so that Claude still feels him well after he leaves. The soreness will be a reminder, his cum leaking out of him days after, also a reminder. 

_There it is,_ Claude is getting louder, the screams climbing higher every time Dimitri hits his sweet spot. Dimitri kisses him, the smack of their lips comes rough. Too much tongue, too much teeth, the press of their lips is inconcise. With every gasp, with every moan, with every wail, each became an excuse for their lips to part. Claude begins to tighten more around him and knows that he too will not last long. He pulls out all the way, leaving Claude’s hole to clench around nothing then shoves himself back inside. **Hard**. Claude’s legs envelop his waist, a tight flex, digging his heels in to encourage Dimitri to go deeper. He goes as deep as he can, feels himself burning within Claude’s heat, knows his skin is red because of it. He’s halfway out before Claude starts shaking and pushes him back inside with the ends of the heels. As if to say _and stay there_. But he won’t stay there, he keeps going, this time with slower thrusts, mindful because Claude is still cumming.

When Claude comes you know it because he’s not quiet. Especially now that he still fucks him throughout his orgasm. His scream is so expressive that it echoes upon the high ceilings. “Dimitri, _Dimitri._ ” He praises. Claude isn’t a religious man but to hear his own name be honored by those lips so vehemently makes him believe.  
Dimitri would have once felt shame for desecrating his ancestral home. He does not feel shame now, he just made the man he loves cum, he feels born again in his waters. 

Claude arches against him, preens, as the wet spot on the front of his pants grows bigger. Dimitri is so thick, so fulfilling that he still quivers, still causes Claude to squeeze so tight around him. Forced Dimitri into a kiss so wet and sloppy, as wet and sloppy as it feels to be inside him. Moaning into the kiss, whimpering, biting, Claude is limp in his mouth. His legs are so exhausted that they just dangle at Dimitri’s sides, can’t even bother to wrap them around Dimitri’s waist anymore. He Just lets Dimitri use him until Dimitri comes for the second time. His vision goes blank as his eye rolls to the back of his head. Body numbing pleasure, he feels himself pulsating as he unloads. The second time around he comes faster, still as good, still as sinful.

**May the goddess forgive him.**

He doesn’t pull out yet, he’s not quite ready. Not when Claude is soothing him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, kissing him, holding him - _what feels like loving him_. Does he truly love him the way Dimitri wants to be loved by him?

**He needs to know.**

It is in moments like these that Claude is more willing to break character. To be more susceptible to the heartstrings pulling at his heart. It’s a cheap trick to use a moment of weakness to validate his worth in Claude’s life, but he feels as though he has no other choice now.

“Mitya, as much as I would love to spend the rest of the night at your side like this, I can’t let anyone see me.” Textured skin soothes his cheek, the long fingers ever reaching into the golden tresses where fingers would organize the mess of his hair. A king at all times must be proper, Claude reminds him.

“Spend the night with me, I’ll be the only one to see you.” Dimitri says. Inviting, but even so, dreading the possible refusal, but Claude shuts that worry down quickly. “As you wish.”

It will be their last night together for a while.

Their union ends as their hips separate. A pained expression follows Claude’s countenance as he is left vacated. Dimitri being inside him had been a comfort, Dimitri knows this, Claude knows this, even if Claude doesn’t wish to show it at times. His slick oozes out of Claude’s asshole, left gaped and reddish by his size. The buttocks, they are rosy too from the repetitive press of hips. They both groan but for different reasons. 

“Allow me to clean you up.” A king must serve his people so that is what he does now. He tucks himself inside his pants with urgency, because as Claude has said, anyone could walk in.

His mannish hands clutch underneath the thighs and presses them to Claude’s chest once more. The bend facilitated by post coital relaxation. This causes more to slick secrete out, and Dimitri diligently licks him clean as best he can. A huff from Claude, then the arching of his back as the powered down moans come to life. Dragging out shortly the sounds of satisfaction from his partner’s throat. “Oh Dima.” Claude’s hand reaches for his hair again. A pull. “I’m so glad you liked the boots, I bought them with you in mind.” Dimitri’s tongue goes in, curves upward, scooping up the remains of himself inside Claude. This causes dearest Claude to kick his leg up, an airy laugh, _“yes”_ the hand grips at his hair again. 

Wait, bought-?

With a pop Dimitri leaves Claude unfinished, his own semen dripping from the corner of his lips, the proof or their union, the taste of nothingness on the taste buds. “Bought? I thought Yuri gave them to you?” His thumb digging deeper into the meat of Claude’s thighs at the thought of Yuri. This causes a brow to raise, darkly colored and arched to portrait Claude’s evident confusion. “He gave them to me, yes, but only because I purchased them. They were a little big on me but he helped me refit them.” With that being said Dimitri had been jealous over nothing. All this time sulking over an assumption, a misunderstanding. Dimitri is no stranger to his flaws, he’s aware he’s got plenty of them. Dealing with loss is one of them. In his lifetime he’s lost many things, his family, his home, his friends, his sanity, so he clings desperately to what he has now. Claude is someone he has now, and seeing him affectionate with someone else sends him on a downward spiral. 

It’s humorous in a way how much Claude has truly ruined him.

He could see the gears turning inside Claude’s head as he began to put two and two together. “Wait how did y _ooooooh,_ ” No. Cannot allow him to finish that line, had to derail him from the train of thought and what better way than to go down on him. Dimitri can feel his thighs try to clamp around him. _**Cute**_. Claude sounds so breathless, feels so featherlight amidst moans.

**The door opens.**

“Claude!! I heard your screaming and-“ Silence. Dead silence. Dimitri didn’t have to turn to see who it was. It was Hilda Von Goneril. 

"Hey what’s all the commotion?” Came another recognizable, nonchalant voice. He recognized the voice before he saw him, Sylvain. Footsteps halted, complete silence, perhaps they were gone. “GET SOME YOUR HIGHNESS!!” They were not gone. In fact one of them was clapping, it was Sylvain without a doubt.

“I-it’s not what it looks like.” Stammered Claude, with legs currently bent in the air. Of course it was Claude who tried to save face because Dimitri was currently too embarrassed to. 

“It’s not what it looks like?? Tell me Claude, what does it look like ‘CAUSE IT LOOKS LIKE HE’S EATING YOUR FUCKING ASS!” 

“Eating and fucking his ass.” Sylvain corrected. Thanks Sylvain.

**It’s going to be a long night.**


End file.
